the front of your dress all shadowy lined

The grid has been a strange and unsettling place, of late, but over the past few days, in between repatterning and retinting outfits, I had a chance to take some photographs of Lord Bardhaven's most thoughtful gift.

This has become thoughtful in two ways, though, and now I must also bring up Miss hyasynth Tiramisu.

First, I gained one of Miss Tiramisu's limited edition mushroom-hunt gowns. It came packed in a nearly glowing fuchsia mushroom, spiraled and shining, and I didn't have time the first night I received it to unpack it. Also, I was somewhat afraid of losing it entirely--there was a ban at that point against rezzing out any item that was non-copyable.

I should remember, what you fear, you draw close to you.

The bug struck, removing thirty items--many of them mine, as in, furniture and attire I'd created--as well as, yes, the cherry dress from Silent Sparrow, Miss Tiramisu's store (for those who don't know the name from Lord Bardhaven's writings. In a panic--and at a very late hour!--I made bold to write Miss Tiramisu, explaining the tragic circumstance in a notecard, and asking for her indulgence in perhaps sending another copy.

She was affable, courteous, polite to a fault and quite amused. She said it had been happening all week--one poor damsel lost three mushrooms in one night! She asked for specific details on the dress box's name, I gave her what I remembered, and within moments, I had a new mushroom. Which I promptly rezzed out and unpacked, not to risk losing it again!

It was again, some few days, but finally, I had free time and could try it on.



It's very Alice in Wonderland, in a sense, the Red Queen on the Adelphi Stage, sort of affair. Fabulous details, and as expected, a variety of mix and match options to suit everyone.



I truly think Miss Tiramisu, along with Miss Nephilaine Protagonist (the designer behind Pixeldolls) are the two best creators on the grid for the terribly intricate detail, the small yet necessary motif. Clicking all of these images will bring up larger versions, and looking at it up close as I'm wearing it is just dizzying.



I'm very pleased to have received this, and honored to be Lord Bardhaven's five hundredth comment in his blog. I also thank Miss Tiramisu for her understanding and compassion, and her willingness to help. Without their kind assistance, I wouldn't have this lovely gown to show off...I mean display...I mean...

...hmm, when's the next ballroom dance? This might just be appropriate...

you know that if you live like, you will die like

Normally, in this journal--save for dances in Steelhead and Caledon, and particular events in similar vein--I don't use real names. Granted, my sense of anonymizing verges on the absurd and transparent--still, it's my choice, and generally, I try to hold to it.

This is an exception to my personal guidelines.

Having spoken at length on many topics with Major Erasmus Margulis, we have come to the conclusion that there simply isn't enough personal verification of any potential wrongdoing for me to continue to hold any grievance against his cousin, Miss Lavendar Beaumont.

I am therefore retracting my considered, but perhaps nonetheless ill-chosen words, to and about Miss Beaumont in recent blogs.

I forthwith apologize for any harm my participation in this incident may have dealt her. I should remember, very few are like me, and view controversy as a desired thing.

My thanks to anyone wandering by for your understanding. We now return you to your train wreck in progress.

it doesn't seem right to take information given at close range

I'm finding something terribly amusing, that, all things considered fairly, probably isn't for any of the participants involved.

That someone is now on my watchlist of harmful people is due entirely to reports of her own actions over the course of several events, several incidents, and several months. One single slight didn't put her there. One single slight wouldn't put anyone there.

But I'm finding it amusing, the groundswell of support she seems to have. It intrigues me. Perhaps I'm being unfair to the individual in question, though I do highly doubt such.

We all have our partisan moments; this is mine. The sharing of personal information above and beyond the rules of the game. Disregard my friendship with the one attacked. Disregard that I haven't met the individual who spoke such more than once, formally, and once, informally. We don't share anything resembling a social circle, after all.

That is where I draw the line.

Once, many months ago, one I used to favor shared personal information that was not his to give out with a love of mine. Had this love not known, beforehand, the information so revealed...this would have staggered him. This is not information I share beyond a bare handful of friends. It is not something widely known. It is something private, personal, and--not in small measure--painful.

That this information was so revealed staggered me; stunned me; hurt me. I reformatted my profile to remove all reference to any friends I had in my picks, in case this someone was going down the list, and would reveal to all what I wanted revealed only to those of my choosing. I panicked, yes; but I felt it was my only recourse.

For that month, and one month following, this individual was very carefully watched, and very carefully dealt with, because he'd made my list of harmful people. Yes, that he made that list was predominantly based on this one incident, but there was also a pattern of behavior behind it, that largely contributed. It was not that single, solitary moment that placed him on the list. Not even him.

He's not on it now. It is possible to get off this list. It takes care, and sincerely meant apologies, and demonstration that such behavior has changed. That the likelihood is greater than average that such behavior would not recur.

It's possible for this individual to move from the list, too. Though I think it's quite unlikely, as she's still denying she was in the wrong. I suppose we simply must wait and see, and guard, and watch.

From the Terms of Service, which have slightly changed of late (section of 4.1.v.IV bolded by me):

CONDUCT BY USERS OF SECOND LIFE

4.1 You agree to abide by certain rules of conduct, including the Community Standards and other rules prohibiting illegal and other practices that Linden Lab deems harmful.

You agree to read and comply with the Community Standards posted on the Websites, (for users 18 years of age and older, at http://secondlife.com/corporate/cs.php; and for users of the Teen Area, at http://teen.secondlife.com/footer/cs

In addition to abiding at all times by the Community Standards, you agree that you shall not: (i) take any action or upload, post, e-mail or otherwise transmit Content that infringes or violates any third party rights; (ii) impersonate any person or entity without their consent, including, but not limited to, a Linden Lab employee, or falsely state or otherwise misrepresent your affiliation with a person or entity; (iii) take any action or upload, post, e-mail or otherwise transmit Content that violates any law or regulation; (iv) take any action or upload, post, e-mail or otherwise transmit Content as determined by Linden Lab at its sole discretion that is harmful, threatening, abusive, harassing, causes tort, defamatory, vulgar, obscene, libelous, invasive of another's privacy, hateful, or racially, ethnically or otherwise objectionable; (v) take any actions or upload, post, e-mail or otherwise transmit Content that contains any viruses, Trojan horses, worms, spyware, time bombs, cancelbots or other computer programming routines that are intended to damage, detrimentally interfere with, surreptitiously intercept or expropriate any system, data or personal information; (vi) take any action or upload, post, email or otherwise transmit any Content that would violate any right or duty under any law or under contractual or fiduciary relationships (such as inside information, proprietary and confidential information learned or disclosed as part of employment relationships or under nondisclosure agreements); (vii) upload, post, email or otherwise transmit any unsolicited or unauthorized advertising, or promotional materials, that are in the nature of "junk mail," "spam," "chain letters," "pyramid schemes," or any other form of solicitation that Linden Lab considers in its sole discretion to be of such nature; (viii) interfere with or disrupt the Service or servers or networks connected to the Service, or disobey any requirements, procedures, policies or regulations of networks connected to the Service; (ix) attempt to gain access to any other user's Account or password; or (x) "stalk", abuse or attempt to abuse, or otherwise harass another user. Any violation by you of the terms of the foregoing sentence may result in immediate and permanent suspension or cancellation of your Account. You agree that Linden Lab may take whatever steps it deems necessary to abridge, or prevent behavior of any sort on the Service in its sole discretion, without notice to you.

Cumbersome, to be sure...but is it in any way unclear? I don't think so...

No, it doesn't seem right
To take information
Given at close range
For the gag
And the bind
And the ammunition round...

(Stanza taken from "Not About Love" by Fiona Apple.)

and things are not so easy, so cold and we've been burned

Two down now, and counting.



One more spins away, and the world is that much colder.



It was him, and it was me, we both agree it had to end. It wasn't all my fault.

I suppose that's something.



But I feel so very small, so much alone. For all of the friends, and all of the ones I love.



I'm sorry...

there's nowhere to run, so let's just get it over

Unbelieveable. Unbelievable. On a day it's now a known fact I'm going to exist off the grid and God pulls this.

God...SUUUUUCKS.



[12:06] Stiv Kaczmarek: Em, you have a tree on fire
[12:07] Stiv Kaczmarek: HAHAH BURN IN THE RED FIRES OF HELL, TREE



I thought he was done. Couldn't do anything about it; okay, fine, I lose a tree. God is a petty vindictive god of petty vindictiveness, I can cope. I've known that for a while, it's not news.

But later...oh, later. It got worse.



[20:13] Stiv Kaczmarek: pssssssst
[20:13] Stiv Kaczmarek: fire
[20:14] Stiv Kaczmarek: NOT NAMING ANY NAMES but
[20:14] Stiv Kaczmarek: someone might have tossed fire into a certain AREA
[20:14] Stiv Kaczmarek: that you own
[20:14] Stiv Kaczmarek: and/or reside on



The worst part? Of finding out the Lord my Stiv has set my trees ablaze?

He's locked the damn fires. I can't MOVE THEM.

The Powers that Linden keep telling me this: Removal of the object 'campfire' from the simulator is disallowed by the permissions system.

ARRRGH!



God, you ssssssuuuuuucccckkkk soooooo muuuuuuch....

Right. Time to bring in the big guns.

I'll have to call in on my mystical landlord powers. Stiv...you're gonna get in trou-ble...

have I trusted blindly in your love, too many times?

I miss him. Of course I miss him. It's understandable.



After a dear friend introduced me to the Avilion Grand Ballroom, I took the kitten there. He wanted a quiet place where we could discuss the--at that time, one or two months ago--upcoming move. I wanted a place of such sweeping beauty I wouldn't mind the pain of the memory, there.

Avilion worked for both of us--the quiet hush as we spoke in low voices, little more than the scrape of his shoes on the turns, the swish of my skirts, the utter clarity of everything, in that place. Single most breathtaking ballroom I've seen on the grid, hands down.



Of course I miss him. It will be harder to contact him, he's so far away. The effort will be made, but I know how it is...people leave the grid, I maintain, I communicate, I reach out...and then I get distracted. It's a common fate, but no less distressing for all that it's common.

Severance...destabilization...parting...this understanding hovers near me and I wait. Trapped in that moment between inhaling the shock of it, and exhaling and moving on. I can't move forward. I don't know how.



I still need to finish this dress. Maybe buy the settee. Work on more attire. Decide once and for all what I'm doing with my rental land, and how it's going to look, because as it is now, it's not even a sidewise approximation of what I wanted, and...so much to do.

So much I want to do.

So much I want not to do.

It's tricky.

My diamond's clouded over where it used to shine like light,
And the day keeps running faster,
Into the arms of night...

The stitches on the tapestry say,
"Everything in time,
Will find its way home again,"
But I'm tired of crying...

When did it stop being fun, this existence? I need that back. When there's too much drama for the girl who lives at the heart of it, there's something wrong.

There's something wrong. Now I need to fix it.

I don't know how to do that, either...but at least I'm committed to trying.



(Lyrics are from "No Second Chances" by Blackmore's Night.)

you don't own me, I'm not just one of your little toys

Last night, for the first time ever**, we had a dance in the saloon. It was so very very large. But then, most of us were so very very tiny!



The Captain of the Mare Angelus, Midnight Bohemia, came full-sized. But Miss Qlippothic (the little square robot) was hosting from the bar anyway.



Steelhead's owner, Miss Kattrynn Severine, stole all hearts as the brightly pink pegasus. She couldn't dance, but she tossed her candyfloss mane a lot.



Miss Lumina Elvejhem demonstrates why all-prim clothing, on frequent occasion, is just not suitable. The skirt stayed still and her legs danced, it was difficult to get a good picture!



Mr. TotalLunar Eclipse, one of the sim's capable managers, came as a tiny feral. He bit my skirt, hopped around the saloon, and in general had a grand time. Very cool rabbit.



Mr. Fawkes Allen took the concept of 'tiny' one step further and came as a carbon atom. Now that's dedication. He spun and whirled in place most of the evening.



Mr. Finnian Fitzgerald came as a post-punk Smurf, thus engendering a run of Smurf jokes that just...did not...end. Ever.



Mr. Hank Rucker, my landlord and occasional Steelhead attendant, flipped through many, many different tiny avatars. Considering we were in a Western sim--and saloon!--though, I thought this one was the most amusing.



Past my sable-bunnied self is Miss Kristin Villota's ginger fox. Behind her can just be made out our DJ, Sheriff Fuzzball Ortega, who had a new stream and did a wonderful job. Yay Fuzz!



Sir Edward Pearse, Earl of Primbroke, apparently still in a Harry Potter mood, came as the koala-shaped member of Gryffindor. To his left is his lady wife, Countess of Primbroke, Lady Christine McAllister.

Actually, Miss Christine's pale bunny was quite amusing. To wit:



It seemed longer in the flank than average;



It seemed to have thumbs, and teeth akimbo;



On occasion it had flippers;



And it was missing an eye, above and beyond the angled square paws.

*blinks*

Drat, now I want one!



Your harried diarist, figuring out when she wears a tiny avatar, that is nearly all attachments, and wears a simple gown that is also all attachments...she has a higher than average propensity for crashing.

Argh.



Get down with your tiny self!



Get funky!

The grid was having rezzing problems, this was a pic I had to snap just in case I crashed again--it felt like I was going to! So Fuzzball is the very dark werewolf in this shot, Sir JJ Drinkwater is the hippogriff, and Lady Amber Palowaksi is the little pink bunny (thank you, Edward!).



And Miss Alexandra Rucker came as the littlest technowitch.



Well, what would you call it? She had a USB port as a tail!



Another crowd scene. I can't remember who all's standing at the bar. A slightly better look at Miss Lumina's wings for her kitten, on the far right. And Duchess Gabrielle Riel is in the bright pink ballgown near the center.

All in all, though it took a bit to pick up--apparently, there was an unannounced bookbinders' ball in Caledon during the first hour of the dance--by the end of the dance the saloon was...hopping!

HEE!

Mayhap not as tinies, I mean, my goodness, all those attachments...but I think we had fun. I'd like to do another saloon dance.

**Miss Qlippothic informs me that Miss Kattrynn used to hold line dances in the saloon, long before she was built. This would have been beyond my Steelhead time, as well, as I enter the picture when there were still apartments for rent in the town, and Steelwolf was the rental agent.

On the other hand, it could have been around then, because as I also recall, I was not attending many Steelhead functions. I simply used Miss Desade's balcony to change, as I had no home of my own.

*blinks*

If anyone remembers a purple-haired cyberpixie on the upper floors of the apartment building en dishabille...well, that, err, would've been me.

and you're too late

Somehow, I had a feeling this would happen.

Well, not this. But...something.

After all...it's sort of tradition.

But first, I want to know why this--and I'm laying the blame on a certain mad scientist of my acquaintance, who thought it was perfectly fine to sit with the shapeshifter next to exposed plutonium cores, remaking a nuclear weapon into a lamp:



What else would explain...the arrival of the Twi'lek?



Still don't quite understand...why the Twi'lek? And what on earth do Twi'leks normally wear?



Of all the species to imitate...



It's not like I don't have enough impossible puzzles in my life, now I have lekkus and blue-gold skin. How does this make sense?



Maybe I should just set the StarGate on random, see where it takes me...the answer may be out there, after all.

Can't even rant at the statue, considering he might have gotten me into this--because he's far from the world, for reasons unknown. On the other hand, the neko lad did surface tonight, and...he did so because tonight may have been the last ever time I see him.

I'm trying not to think that. But his journey will take him far beyond reach of the aether, let alone the grid.

Tomorrow night, he says, he will try to make it in, to see me one last time...but I don't anticipate it's going to happen. Tonight...may have been the goodbye I've known was coming.

So one down. Any bets on who's going next?

because she fall in love too often that's what the matter

One of those surreal Silent Hill days on the grid...



Okay, fine, I can live with the neck twisting, but where's my arm gone? When my limbs start falling off...



Oh, good, it's back. But still. The head-spinny. I don't even GO to Little Silent Hill anymore because of this...



All right, getting marginally better. But if that's how seriously this shop takes "animations", I'm not going back!

So from there, I went home to Rivula. Thought I'd retake some of the shots of the outfits I've designed, seeing as ShopOnRez, since they ceased being SLBoutique, has utterly failed to work for me...so I might be converting the shopfront to SL Exchange.

How'ver, I did not expect to find Rivula ON FIRE:



Distantly, across the landscape, as I'm taking photographs, I see the actinic orange glow of flames...



And it turns out to be several trees burning merrily away, though the fire's getting quite close to homes!



Already it's set the roof of the Lord our Stiv's place on fire...oh, wait, it's Stiv's place. It's not such a big loss, then.



Oh, but Neurosis' roof will go up, if I don't do something...



Even the lodge building is beginning to catch! Oh, no!



Terrible job, herding fire. Never tried to do it before. Tried to get it away from major structures, and it's proving tricky. I'm not a firefighter, just an occasional mentalist, so it's the first time I've ever had to...fire is surprisingly argumentative.

I never knew this before.



Ah, finally. All the flames are in one place.

You know, God's house...it actually looks pretty good on fire...

In other news, it's been confirmed--the doctor's daughter is the demon's daughter, again, in truth. I have no idea how she's taken the change, nor even if she knows it.

It should be...interesting...for the rest of us, as well.

so let me fall, if I must fall, I won’t heed your warnings

So what happens now...?

I have yet to speak with the one who wished not to talk with me...that, I suppose, is upcoming for when we both have time, and hanging over my head in a rather Damoclean fashion.

I've been speaking with the one who's definitely leaving, and I need to figure out why we've suddenly hit past-tense, and if it matters...and we'll see how that goes.

And the best I can do with the third, I suppose, is watch and see...I've learned, it's worse making assumptions about one I love, than it is accepting their actions for their actions, and asking questions if I'm still confused. Assuming I know what's going on in someone else's head is never good, and it helped to kill one relationship, and will, if this plays out how I think it will, have helped to kill another.

Chasing ghosts, he said. There is a danger, yes. But I have such a problem letting go of people...if I love someone, if I trust someone, if I've put them into my structure and made them part of my support...it's like kicking out a column from the temple. Kicking out one won't change the structure's stability. Kicking out several, the temple falls down.

The temple's staggering, at present, and there's some signs of wear...but losing two more columns...

...maybe it's time to rebuild.

I don't want to know the lover at my door is just another heartache on my list

I profoundly mislike crying for people. I have three reasons for this.

Partially because it always feels somehow spurious, the vague manipulative air, even if I tell them not, even if I speak of it never...something in me knows I was brought to that point, and I feel vaguely unworthy and ill-used over the whole affair.

Partially because the lump in my throat swells, and then becomes yet one more thing I won't talk about without duress, and I have so many of those already, they bury me under drifts of past misdeeds and misapprehensions. It gets harder of an evening to dig out to the surface at all.

Partially because it stains my fur, but that's the least of the reasons.

It's funny...in a very morbid sense. I haven't spoken of this before here, because...for once, it was too personal. My trio of shining loves...one is leaving me, and already refers to what we have in the past tense...one is likely leaving me, and won't--at least yet--speak to me about it...and I am left with one.

And...there may be surfacing problems with that one, as well, and...I don't know what to do about any of it.

Forget the train wreck; someone smuggled a pony nuke aboard, and I'm just another seared shadow on the wall, dim wraith of former vibrance.

I will get better. It's what I do. But for once I'm quite looking forward to my weekly Wednesday separation from the grid. It's one day I don't have to be in world and be responsible for everything I can't find a way to mend...